


Honeymoon

by Chevy



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Babies, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Marriage, Sunshine and butterflies, Written Pre-Watching Season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 07:39:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3241628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chevy/pseuds/Chevy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A decade on the ground, Bellamy and Clarke try and enjoy their honeymoon and plan their lives together. </p><p>'Try' being the operative word.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honeymoon

Escaping Mt Weather had come first. Clarke had made even the blood of even the boldest of them run cold when she told Dante that he would release her people or she’d cut his heart out. The President had believed her. Most of the surviving 100—now 47—had walked out, including Jasper. That was where Octavia and Lincoln had found them, Bellamy’s sister barely recognisable under Grounder camouflage and furs.

They’d run to Camp Jaha, found Finn and Raven and Bellamy. Fragile coexistence between the 100 and those who had prosecuted them could not, would not, last. Bellamy and Clarke had taken their people before there was bloodshed. Unsurprisingly, after some discussion, they’d found themselves back at their dropship, returning to it like salmon swimming upstream.

The settlement attracted a band of others; traitors like Lincoln, couples forbidden to marry under tribal law, misfits and criminals and bastards. With the families of the 100 from Camp Jaha, their own settlement was well over 100 strong. They made their own peace with the Grounders, separate from Camp Jaha, who still had skirmishes over supplies and territory. The patch of forest by the river, named Riveredge simply for something to call it, was excluded from these conflicts. They did trade with the Grounders, as far away as the Eastern ocean, and they stayed away from Camp Jaha to keep the peace. Sometimes they were called upon to settle disputes, as a neutral third party.

It was early morning in autumn, and it had been eight years since the Ark had fallen, seven since Riveredge considered itself established and today was supposed to be the start of Clarke’s goddamn honeymoon.

It had all started so damn prettily, too, coming out of the sort of deep, healing sleep that was rare and precious, curled up against Bellamy’s strong chest. It was warm and comfortably drowsy, Bellamy’s erection pressed against her hip and herself deliciously aching. He murmured when she stirred, his eyelashes tickling her forehead. She had a ring he’d made her on his left hand, but they also had traditional wedding paints on their faces and bodies, fresh tattoos on their chests to mark them as belonging to someone. “Princess” Bellamy greeted her hoarsely, letting go so he could sit up and stretch.

Clarke propped her head up and shamelessly watched his muscles go taunt and relax strain by strain. It was a nice feeling, being no longer obligated to catch herself and look away, cheeks burning and cursing herself. Bellamy caught her left hand and rolled on top of her, his eyes on the still-red tattoo under her collarbone on the left hand side of her chest. There was awe in his eyes as he bent his head like a man at prayer, traced the black lines of ink with his tongue. She hissed, head falling back on the pillows, threading her fingers through the hair at the back of his head.

In a move Octavia’s unarmed combat lessons had taught her, she kicked out the support of his legs and rolled him onto his back. They both yelped as the raw skin of inked flesh collided, then Clarke giggled, pressing fervent kisses to the edges of the mark. Straddling him, she brought his left hand to her face and kissed his palm and the circuit of the dropship’s metal that encircled his ring finger.

“Fuck” he croaked, folding himself upwards to kiss her.

“Hello husband” she whispered giddily into his mouth. Bellamy’s laugh was full-throated and beautiful.

God help her, she was so in love with him. For years, he’d been her partner, her best friend, the man who had her back, who’d helped her lead these people, her shoulder to cry on, the steady pair of hands when everything got too much. Those feelings had only gotten more powerful until Bellamy was so much more, but she couldn’t quite pinpoint when that was, because she’d been so caught up in Finn and in survival and the blood she’d bathed in so her people could walk free. She’d realised one day watching Bellamy up to his elbows in work building new cabins, supervising and doing the work of three men, busting his ass so that nobody could ever say he was taking advantage of his high position. She’d run like hell from it. She’d learned her damn lesson from Finn. She wouldn’t be repeating that mistake, she’d thought then.

Raven, shrewd, no-bullshit Raven who got around in a 4wd wheelchair and leg braces with ease that belied her injuries, caught her out. Had poked and prodded and basically been a pain in Clarke’s ass with the best of intentions. They’d been building Riveredge for five years by then.

Raven had Jasper, who still looked at her in complete shock and awe sometimes, whom Raven looked at like he was too precious for the world they lived in.

Finn mostly focused on his Rangers and had fallen as passionately in love with Earth as he’d once loved Clarke. He came home for a few weeks at a time, full of laughter and stories of jaguars and deer and giant fire-breathing lizards and mythical creatures that nobody quite believed. Then, as abruptly as he’d come, he’d get a cornered, faraway look in his eyes and be gone the next day.

Clarke, Raven said firmly, was overdue for the pursuit of her own happiness.

A _whole goddamned year_ of trading stolen glances, explosive fights over nothing at all and a few aborted attempts to have the Talk, a gang of Nomads tried to take Riveredge. They’d failed, but in the aftermath, a wound Clarke sustained made itself viciously known. They didn’t recognise the poison that had racked her system. Bellamy launched a mission to Lexa’s village to find the cure. Two days in, just in case she died, she had told him she loved him.

“I still can’t believe you said it” Clarke said abruptly. The haze of arousal took a long moment to clear from Bellamy’s green eyes. When it did, he rolled them hard enough to strain something.

“It was two friggin’ years ago, Clarke”

“I told you that I loved you and you said _no shit, keep breathing_!” she exclaimed.

He had to laugh at the kittenish disapproval on his face. She was equally helpless against the impulse to kiss the laugh right out of his mouth.

“You couldn’t resist me” he rumbled, shooting shivers down her spine.

He swore in about four separate dialects as she settled him inside her. Pushing his face into her neck, overwhelmed and helpless, he wrapped both arms tight around her, like he had when he’d seen her at Camp Jaha for the first time since the battle. For the longest time, they didn’t speak outside of whimpers, move much more than the shift of Clarke’s hips.

“You’re gunna kill me” he gasped.

“There’s worse ways to go”

“ _Fuck_ …-” he agreed. “-Clarke, please…”

He was sitting against the bed head, and Clarke ensnarled the fingers of both his hands with her own, pressing them against the wall as she began to chase her own pleasure, dragging him with her. They shared choked off gasps that tasted like their names and the names of their gods, teeth clacking and lips sucking tongues as their orgasms built. He came first, spilling inside her, and harshly tearing his hands from hers to shove her back onto the bed and bury himself between her legs. He felt her come, heard it on her long cry of his name and only then did he collapse onto her, panting. Her stomach under his cheek rose and fell rapidly and dizzily he wondered if the seed inside her would take root. The thought made him smile.

“What?” she asked, feeling his smile and then feeling it soften. Looking down, she found him resting on her belly, looking up at her.

“Are you going to take your tea?” he asked, quietly.

Lincoln had shown Octavia the small, unassuming flower called Lover’s Friend that could be brewed into a foul tea that acted as a contraceptive. Octavia was outspoken and unashamed about making it known, even planting some in the centre garden.

“Do you think we should talk about it?” Still laying between her legs, Bell propped himself up on his elbow and looked away.

“You know how I feel about it” he muttered, meaning he wanted a small army of mini Clarke-and-Bellamy’s, but was at the same time blood-chillingly _terrified_ of the very idea. He’d seen Octavia’s ruinous childhood and never even knew his father’s name. Clarke had seen him playing with his two year old nephew Washington and her whole being ached to see him hold his own children.

“You can call the boy Augustus but I am not giving a girl ay derivative of that name” she decided dreamily. Orgasms made her fuzzy.

Bellamy sat up like a shot and pushed himself up to linger over her, reading her features with a kind of manic desperation. She grinned at him, took his face in her hands.

“I won’t take the tea” she clarified softly.

He might have sort of cried a bit then, but that was between him and the patch of Clarke’s breast that he chose to rest his head on. For the first time in a very, very long time, they’d drifted into a doze rather than get up and attend to the myriad of things that usually held their attentions. The whole camp had come together to make sure that their beloved leaders could have three days to lock themselves in their cabin and enjoy starting their married lives together.

Or, as Octavia had delicately put it: “Go make babies, we got it covered”

Then, of course, they were rudely awoken by someone thundering on the door. They were both on their feet, age-old survival instincts still well-honed and barely hidden. They silently checked on one another and realised what was happening. Bellamy grabbed the decadent woollen trousers that he’d worn to his wedding and threw his silk shirt at Clarke. Stomping down the hallway, he threw the door open.

“This had better be life or death” he growled furiously at Jasper.

“There’s an envoy from Camp Jaha. It’s Griffin” he replied quickly, probably trying to get it out before it became a question of his life or death.

Any contact they had with Camp Jaha was managed by Bellamy and he understood that the betrayal Clarke had felt when Abby silently watched her daughter lead the 100 out of the gates of Camp Jaha, on top of the open wounds of her father’s death, would never fully heal. So he left it alone.

“ ‘the hell is she _doing here_?!” he demanded.

“What’s going on?” Clarke interrupted, coming up behind Bell. She was sleepy soft, naked legs long and pale under the sheer covering of Bellamy’s shirt. Jasper abruptly found the sky fascinating.

“Your mom’s here and she’s refusing to speak to anyone but the two of you” he informed the thatching on their cabin. Bellamy and Clarke exchanged grim expressions.

“We’ll meet her out there in ten” Bellamy said, reaching to shut the door but stopping at Jasper’s grimace.

“Uh, yeah…about that: she’s inside the walls. Apparently she pushed her way in and we managed to wrangle her into the dropship, but…”

“So you’re telling me there’s a Camper inside the walls? Which our treaty specifically forbids. That right?”

Jasper screwed up his face bracingly and nodded.

“Who was on sentry?” Bellamy enquired, too pleasant by a mile.

“Uh, Tobias and Bridget”

“You can tell them they’ll be digging latrines until I say they can fucking stop”

Bellamy slammed the door in his face and turned to his new wife, who was already pulling on trousers, throwing him a clean shirt and finding her boots. Her face would have been expressionless to anyone but Bellamy, who grabbed her before she could protest and tucked her firmly into his chest.

“It’s supposed to be our honeymoon” she murmured into his chest.

“I know Princess…”

The last time Clarke had seen Abby was three years ago, when Camp Jaha had contracted a strain of the measles familiar to the Grounders and Riveredge, and they’d reached out for help. They’d offered nothing more than a description of the shrub who’s roots helped sooth the cough and fever. When it came to the woman who’d given birth to her, she had developed an apathetic streak completely at odds with her usually passionate temperament.

She and Bellamy got a slew of strange looks as they made their way through the alleys to the centre of Riveredge; growth had spread in a circular pattern outwards from the dropship, which now acted as a meeting area and storage facility, sometimes as a gaol.Nobody was expecting to see Bellamy and Clarke in their leadership capacity for another two and a half days. The fact boiled up inside Clarke until, by the time she and Bellamy had gotten to the dropship, she was seething with righteous fury.

Bellamy tried only once to calm her, before simply bobbing like flotsam in her wake and gesturing innocent bystanders out of her warpath.

Abby looked more or less the same as she had the last time Clarke had seen her; a little more grey in her hair and more wrinkles around her mouth and eyes, but her clothes were the same homespun wool and calico, and she stood with a quiet assurance of her own ability and place in the world. It was like looking at an older, darker-haired version of herself, Clarke realised furiously.

Abby turned at the sound of their boots on the walkway. Tobias was still with her, along with Monroe and Monty. Monty was chatting to the doctor until Clarke and Bell walked in, at which point he politely excused himself and returned to his radio monitoring desk. Bellamy clicked his fingers at Tobias and the guard left them. Monroe, however, stayed put, close to her leaders, hard eyes on Abby. The Camp doctor nodded in greeting, her arms wrapped around herself to ward off the autumn chill penetrating the dropship.

“Doctor Griffin, it’s been a while” Bellamy spoke first, civilly, and held out his hand for her to shake.

“Bellamy. You look well…hi, Clarke”

“What are you doing here? Your actions have put our neutral position with the local tribes at risk” replied Clarke, the arctic wind to Bellamy’s autumn chill. Abby sighed and looked at the ground.

“I’m sorry but we need your help”

“You should have come through the proper channels” snapped Clarke.

“God, Clarke, I know I hurt you, but can you really hate me forever?” asked Abby, her voice cracking.

“If you’d waited _three days_ I would have been _so_ much more accommodating” she bit out.

Abby frowned, confused, and then her eyes widened in realisation, staring between the two of them. To clarify, Bellamy lifted his left hand from the fold of his arms and wriggled his fingers. For a long, hard moment, Abby just stared, her startled gaze switching to Clarke when her daughter made a soft sound of amusement at her husband’s antics. Then, as the thought _Clarke has a husband_ slid through Abby’s mind like a snake, heartbreak flooded her expression. She looked quickly away, forcing herself to get it together, sniffed a few times and blinked rapidly to get herself under control.

“Oh, okay, well, congratulations to you both, I….I am very happy for you”

Guilt briefly cut across Clarke’s face and she looked away, fingers brushing over the spot under her collarbone where her mark to Bellamy was inked. “What do you want?”

Abby’s jaw clenched and she swallowed, shook herself and straightened.

“We think we’ve been poisoned. I need to know if you know anything about it”

Clarke and Bellamy recoiled.

“Jesus Christ!” Bellamy swore, took Monroe’s elbow and told her to go find Lincoln and Octavia.

Meanwhile, Clarke was in Abby’s face. “Is it blood fever? Because if it is, you’re at war, and you need to get the hell away from here-”

“No. Whatever it is, it presents like pneumonia, only more intense. It’s been causing-”

“Paralysis? Inflammation of the respiratory cannels?” Abby startled for a second and then took on an expression of hunger, leaning closer to her daughter, nodding. Clarke relaxed and gave a thankful murmur. “It’s powder-reed” she told Bellamy, who called Monroe back and made a ‘shut it down’ gesture with his hand in front of his throat.   
“-There’s a reed that grows near swamps, lakes, any still water. In autumn it releases spores. It can sometimes kill the elderly, but treated, the chances of that are relatively low. Strip the reed, boil the spongy material inside and make a tea. As much as they can keep down. Then sweat it out” Clarke reeled off with the ease of someone who’d dealt with it.

Abby listened carefully, asked a few more questions with sharp and clinical intent, and then was shown back to Camp Jaha with a couple of guards.

Clarke watched her leave from the walls while Bellamy went with Lincoln to inform Lexa that Riveredge had an unauthorised visit from a Camper. Her mother stopped on the edge of the cleared circumference of Riveredge to look back at her daughter, watching from the wall. The last she saw of Clarke was her blonde head jumping down from the sentry platform.

The co-leader of Riveredge went to the infirmary and checked their supplies of powder-reed, warning the day’s foragers that it was sporing and reorganising her medical cabinet. Twice. She had a slate propped against her hip as she counted bandages, doing calculations in her head, when a pair of strong arms wrapped around her shoulders from behind. For a heartbeat, her body released for combat, before recognising Bellamy and sagging into him.

“How’d it go?”

“Lexa’s her usual delightful self. Your fans all say hi. Most of them thought it was funny that Camp Jaha hasn’t been reed-sick after a decade of being here”

“They probably have, just not so many at once. They probably thought it was seasonal flu” Clarke reasoned, making her mark on the edge of the slate and sliding it back into place. Bellamy, who’d looked so relaxed and sated this morning, looked tired and drawn all over again.

She took his hand and smiled up at him. “I’m sorry my mother ruined our honeymoon” she told him softly and immediately regretted everything because she knew the grin that stole across his face all too damn well.

“Oh, we’ve still got time” he assured her, stole all the words from her tongue and the breath from her lungs, pressed his mouth down on hers like a starving man and collected her with embarrassing ease. She squealed as he scooped her off her feet and marched out of the supply room towards their cabin. He stopped in the main room and turned to Monty, who stared and then grinned.

“Spread it around, the next person who knocks on our door without first establishing that the situation is literally _life or bloody, painful death_ , is gunna get their ass kicked” he ordered.

“Bellamy Blake, put me down”

“Clarke Blake, no”

Monty laughed so hard he fell off his chair.

“That sounds ridiculous. I'm keeping my name. Now _put me down_ or I swear you’re sleeping on the damn floor!” she ordered, kicking and wriggling until he was forced to release her down just outside the dropship. Before she could react to having her feet on the ground again, however, he’d tackled her and thrown her over his shoulder.

“Goddammit Bellamy! Put me down!”

“No can do, Princess”

She gave up beating on his back halfway back to the cabin, too busy trying not to die of embarrassment as more or less the entire camp came out to whoop, holler and catcall. He didn’t even put her down until he dropped her onto their bed and dropped himself on top of her. After that he distracted her too impressively for her to be mad at him at all, actually.


End file.
